For moonlight,
I did set away;
Down the garden path
to play.
Past rose and climbing vine,
daisy and lonely pine,
I set off into the pitch
to find me piece of mind
Fields filled with frolicking phantoms
who come into my ear as disturbed leaves,
giving chase by lunar light
before vanishing as thieves.
What wight or specter follows
my person through the hollows
ever matching my stride with step,
following as Death unto the gallows?
Deeper in the dark,
sentinels rise as oak and yew,
and the first flakes of winter dreary,
fall soft as a kitten’s mew.
But by step-and-step,
I do determine
my night time stalker
be more than vermin.
Heavy is the heel
that makes mulch of autumn timber.
The thudding echo of un-careful feet
moving me to remember.
A time in a distant land,
in a forest filled with war,
I heard again the creeping tread
and recalled my pledge of never more.
I put foot before and again,
making haste through a hickory thicket.
The war was fresh once more
and I fled from what once was wicked.
No stealth did it exhibit.
It crashed and cursed the stars.
No matter where I hid,
its presence wasn’t far.
It happened of a sudden.
The forest it spit me out,
and I stared upon distant lights
hearing those distant shouts.
It came crashing from the woods,
causing a brave heart to quake and cower.
So, I hid inside a hole,
in water dark and sour.
He found me hiding there
dirty, sick, and tired
and offered me his hand
to pull me free the mire.
He swaddled me with blankets
this beast become a man,
and led me home once more
across the wintered land.
The nurses greeted me.
The doctors checked my health.
My dementia changes me.
Sometimes, I’m not myself.